Read Online Witch Hunt by Ian Rankin - Free Book Online

together. We can meet for dinner or the theatre.’
    ‘And you still wear your ring.’
    ‘No reason not to.’
    Barclay noticed a small framed photograph on one of the shelves. He got up the better to study it. A young girl dressed in pale colours. A big gap-toothed grin and short black hair. It looked like an old photo. He waited for Elder to say something, but Elder was ignoring him.
    ‘Your daughter?’ Barclay offered.
    Elder nodded. ‘Deceased.’
    Barclay put the photograph back carefully. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘How did she—’
    ‘So,’ Elder interrupted, ‘how’s Joyce Parry?’
    ‘Fine.’ Barclay sat down again.
    ‘It was nice to hear from her. We haven’t really kept in touch.’ A pause. ‘We should have. Have you worked it out yet?’
    ‘Worked out what?’
    Elder smiled. ‘Something we all used to wonder: whether she’s an iron fist in a velvet glove, or a velvet fist in an iron one.’
    Barclay smiled back. ‘Both have the same effect, surely?’
    ‘Not when the gloves are off.’ Elder took another mouthful of beer. ‘So,’ he said, sounding suddenly businesslike, ‘you’re here to tell me something.’
    ‘Well, yes.’
    ‘Something about Witch.’
    ‘We don’t know that yet, even supposing Witch exists ...’
    ‘She exists.’
    ‘She?’
    ‘She, Mr Barclay. One woman.’
    ‘I thought it was a group.’
    Elder shook his head. ‘That’s what the department thought at the time. It’s what Joyce believes to this day. It’s not a gang, Mr Barclay, it’s an individual, an assassin.’
    ‘And female?’
    ‘Female.’
    ‘Because of the Hiroshima murder?’
    ‘No, not just that. Hiroshima was merely her entrance. And now something similar has happened?’
    ‘Two boats, one either side of the Channel—’
    ‘Yes, so Joyce said. One off Calais, the other near Folkestone ...’
    ‘The Cassandra Christa.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The English boat, it was called the Cassandra Christa.’
    ‘Cassandra ... extraordinary.’
    Barclay didn’t follow. ‘You know it?’
    But Elder shook his head. ‘I meant the parallel. You didn’t have a classical education, Mr Barclay?’
    Barclay’s voice was as cold as his drink. ‘Apparently not.’
    ‘Cassandra,’ Elder was saying, ‘was the daughter of Priam, King of Troy. The god Apollo endowed her with the gift of prophecy ... but not of being believed.’
    Barclay nodded slowly, smiling. ‘And you’re Cassandra, Mr Elder?’
    His eyes twinkled. ‘In the present case, yes, perhaps I am.’ He paused. ‘Mr Barclay, do you know why Joyce has sent you here?’
    Barclay took a deep breath. ‘To be honest, off the record, no.’
    ‘Me neither. I admit I’m intrigued. Are Special Branch investigating the sinkings?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘They’ll probably plump for an arms shipment. Believable scenario. Strange, if it is Witch ...’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘She’s a quick learner, Mr Barclay. That’s why she’s survived so long. We haven’t seen hide or hair of her for a couple of years. I thought maybe she’d retired. Yet here she is, announcing herself loud and clear. You see, she didn’t use that particular trick again. She tends not to use the same trick twice, ever. She enters and leaves countries in different ways, using different disguises, different means of killing her victims. Now she seems to have returned to her original calling-card. Why?’
    ‘Maybe she’s run out of ideas, gone back to square one.’
    ‘Maybe.’
    ‘Mr Elder, you say this group ... you say she’s an assassin.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘For money, or for an ideal?’
    ‘Both. Having an ideal costs money.’
    ‘And what is her ideal?’
    Elder shook his head. ‘If I knew that, I might have caught her by now.’ He sat up suddenly. ‘There are two ways of doing this, the fast and the slow. I’d prefer the slow. Do you have any plans for this evening?’
    ‘No.’ This was a lie, but Barclay was intrigued.
    ‘Then I’ll cook some supper. Come on.’ He